Falling Towards Epiphany
by Cameron Baum
Summary: Cameron's thoughts after John re-inserts her chip in "Samson and Delilah."


**Falling Towards Epiphany**

"There's only one way to find out."

System rebooting. Who just said that? Analysing voice patterns... John. It was John Connor. Accessing system file, Connor, John. Oh. Primary mission target. I have to terminate him.

My eyes open, slow, methodical. It is dark. I feel grimy, dirty. Starting up memory file access of most recent events... Oh. I have been attempting in my mission to terminate John. I start to look about, taking in my new environment. I am no longer pinned between two trucks. He is standing over me, to my left side. He is holding a gun. Glock. It is a Glock. Damage assessment indicates I am in urgent need for repairs. And my chip has sustained damage. It is compromised, but not so severely. John. He repaired it.

Mostly.

I sit up, hearing the sound of his footsteps. He is backing away. I turn to look at him, scanning him carefully. My Primary Mission is flashing, clear to see: Terminate John Connor. I start to twist my shoulders, to better look at the teenage boy holding the Glock at me. His face... his eyes. They lack fear. Oh. It is determination. I see in him the eyes that the man he will become, General John Connor, has. Wait. General John Connor sent me back to save him in the past. But there is no record of that directive.

The damage. It has wiped away the mission directives.

I feel damaged. My organics indicate... what is the information telling me? Injuries. I am injured. My face has been torn up, the right cheek and side held together by staples. I remember the pain of stapling the damage together. My left forehead has been scraped, possibly worse. Visual inspection is required.

But the face of John Connor... it is something I remember, the force and strength. I remember waking up, having been clearly captured. I must have been sent to kill him. I don't remember, though, because my memory was erased. Completely scrubbed, to ensure that my reprogramming would be a success. And it must have been, for me to be sent back. He has a a very full file, the exploits he had... he saved countless people from the Machines in San Francisco. I didn't have clearance for the full details, but he ended up with his face scarred. I remember many times tracing the lines of the scar, thinking it strange that it hasn't healed. My injuries completely heal up, but his won't. I still don't fully understand, but it was something Skynet incorporated into me. To allow for a greater ease of infiltration. If my organics fall apart, I can't hide amongst humans, and kill them.

Kill them. Kill humans. John has this role, this destiny. There is so much to him, and I cannot help but think of myself. All I am is a machine built to kill. It's all I am. I can't help but remember the story I read at the Future John's request. He had taken me to this old, damaged library. Many of the books were still viable. He was talking about getting them all replaced, in the drive to rebuild human civilisation. For the first time I had known him, he was excited. There was this hope, this optimism. He got me to read my first book. He made read _The Wonderful Wizard Of OZ._ It was as if he was trying to tell me something, or see my response. But I remember feeling confused by the book, until he explained the concept of fiction to me. He got me to read a lot of children stories and fables. He got me to discuss the stories with him. I cannot help but think of the Tin Man. He needed a heart.

Do I need a heart?

I have often wondered that.

As I stare at the teenage boy in front of me, it becomes apparent that there is an aspect to humanity – to the war, to human society – that I had no realisation existed. It becomes clear that I am limited. Skynet sent me out to perfectly integrate and blend in among people, and it missed out so much for me to be perfect at it. But I see I am so flawed, imperfect.

He is staring at me, the barrel of the Glock aimed perfectly at me. A realisation has come to me.

"Are you here to kill me John?" The words leave my mouth. I cannot help but realise that I am extremely vulnerable. I remember reading the Bible. Images – illustrations – are appearing into my visual assessment display. The Archangel Gabriel, brining death to the Egyptian First Borns, to deliver the Israelites to salvation. Questions are appearing to me.

Was I the first-born for my model?

When the Bible was written, was it referring a past event, a metaphor, or was it predicting the events of the here and now, the fight against the Machines? If so, was it predicted, or foretold through someone going back in time?

"Are you here to kill _me_?"

My system must be extremely damaged. Time isn't linear. It should be linear. I know that things are happening in seconds – the time stamp is conclusive – but it seems as if it if much longer. Perception is off. My ability to observe the passage of time is affected. I have to question my ability to function. The gun staring at me is a symbol for me.

At some point in time, I will no longer exist. I will cease to function. This seems wrong to me. I cannot self-terminate, but there is nothing about continuing existence. I am just a Machine. That is all I am. It is all I can ever be.

Is it, though? Is it possible for me to become more? He was very interested in me reading and discussing another story. I didn't at the time understand his method in talking about the story _Pinnochio_, but now it makes sense. He wanted me to think about possibilities. About becoming more than you are.

I gaze at him, thinking about that. Do I follow my programming?

Do I?

"No."

The words leave my lips, my vocal synthesiser in harmony with my choice. I don't want to cease to function. I don't want to just be a Machine. I don't want to kill John.

He means too much to me.

He firmly turns the gun around, and hands it to me. As I grip the handle, I realise the amount of strength the is using holding the barrel. The events of today have changed him. He is so much more the man I knew in the future. And I don't know if that is a good thing, or a terrible thing. For the John I recall was ruthless and cold. I now cannot help but wonder what events caused that. Was this part of it, or will it now add to what already was adding to it.

"Promise."

The tone of his voice says it all: anger, uncertainty, betrayal. I betrayed him. Not intentionally, but it did it. And I feel something about that. Not physical sensation, but something internal. I don't understand the readings. But then there is a lot I do not understand.

That has to change.

I get that now.

The directive is still flashing, telling me, impelling me to kill him. I know what I have to do. I have to follow my imperative. I see the flashing text change, telling me that I now have a Termination Override. I slowly turn the gun around, and offer it to him. I cannot help but stare at it as I do so. Guns kill people. You can use them to make people cease to exist. Until one minute twenty seven seconds ago, I had ceased to exist. I look up at him, realising that I could have done that to him today. The Bible has the concept of seeking redemption. Sinners trying to atone for their sins. But I cannot feel regret. It isn't in my programming. But I feel it important, having redemption. I need it. I was only following my programming, I was heavily damaged. I wouldn't have done it otherwise. But is still need to to perform redemption.

"Promise," I reply.

He snatches the gun away in an expert, professional manner. He has the manner of someone trained to use weapons from the earliest age. He has been taught the art of war, to engage in conflict and destruction. He has to have more than that, though. I have to follow through on the orders given to me by the Future John Connor. I see him, playing over and over in my display, telling me to be a friend to him, a companion. Seeing him stand alone like this makes me realise how literal that is. I have to help to change that.

He takes my still outstretched hand, and helps me out of the car. I look at his face, scratched and battered from the day's events. If John is an avenging angel, sent to save humanity, does that make me a demon? The thought of that possibility makes me feel something. An internal heaviness. I do not like this sensation. It feels wrong.

As I walk past him, and let go of his hand, I cannot help but look at him. He displayed compassion towards me. He offered me a second chance. The Future John would not have. Faith. He displayed faith towards me. That makes him more. More of what, I do not know. He stares at his mother, judging from the back of his head. Oh. He is throwing the Glock at her, and there is this loom on her face. Derek and Charley are behind her a little way off, standing either side of her. Though we are only a car's length apart, my perception is suggesting it is like a giant chasm.

The slam of the car door has a loud finality to it, as if the past is being beaten away. The future is ahead of us, and the only thing I perceive is a dark road, being lit only by the lights of the car I am driving. I think I just generated that image from elements of existing files, not a file in itself. I don't know what this means.

The way he grabs and lights the flare shows me how much anger he has inside of him. This is increasing the heavy sensation inside of me. I have to change this, make things better.

Somehow.

The look on Sarah's face as he tosses it into the car is on of pain, sadness. I have never seen her look like that before. It seems wrong. I don't know why. She seems _less_ than before, like she is suddenly more frail, less a symbol of salvation, and more like the weak and fragile human race.

As I watch the fire burn the car away, I know I have to work to change and improve this.

I have to make it right.


End file.
